I Will Go With You
by justrumbelledearie
Summary: The Dark One's power begins to fade away after True Love's kiss. A furious and desperate Rumplestiltskin slowly reverts to his former spinner self as he journeys through FTL to the Evil Queen's castle, dreading that it may now be impossible to persuade Regina to cast the curse. On his way, he stops at a dwarf tavern and sees a face he hadn't dared hope to see again.
1. The Storm

A steady downpour began the night Rumplestiltskin raged at Belle.

Her fierce little speech about his _empty heart_ and his _chipped cup_ still hung heavily in the cellar air when he heard the first clap of thunder. An angry rain pounded against the Dark Castle's towering windows as he slowly, slowly made his way up the stairs.

"Belle?" He half-expected _(half-hoped)_ that she would be waiting at the top, ready with her second salvo. Prepared to confront him once again with _true love_, and his _cowardly heart_, and what exactly she had meant when she promised to _go with him forever_. Yet there was nothing but the far off sound of thunder and the rain that rattled the windows.

Belle was gone.

Rumplestiltskin took in the arched entry doors, left open to the storm. Rainwater pooled on the flagstone floor. The wind howled. There was a similar howl waiting inside him, perched on the back of his tongue, a grief that he could never, never give voice to because then he would be lost; he may never stop howling; he may rush after her in the storm and carry his treacherous little maid back, and then it would have all been for nothing. Bae would be lost to him forever.

She had not paused to gather anything. Not a change of clothes. Not gold from his basket. Not even her cloak.

Was he such a monster, then, that he would allow his beloved, his near-downfall, to flee without so much as shawl to keep off the wind and the damp? Without his money or protection?

Passing a weary hand over his strange, shimmering face, Rumplestiltskin walks swiftly to the drawing room and stands in front of a red rose in a vase on the table. He snaps his fingers impatiently, and in an instant Gaston stands before him looking disoriented and _several inches shorter than before_. This unexpected alteration brings a nasty grin to Rumplestiltskin's face. Magic is truly, darkly delightful. A moment later, he is struck by a wave of nausea.

"Face me, fiend!" Gaston has gathered what there is to gather of his wits. The sword is returned to his hand, and he glances around the room wildly, no doubt searching for Belle.

"Oh, we won't be dueling over your betrothed today, dearie. I've grown tired of her. Thrown her out. You'll be accompanying her back to the Marchlands."

With a flick of his wrist and a dark trill of laughter, Belle's cloak appears over Gaston's arm, the arm that is holding the sword aloft.

"Here. For your troubles." Rumplestiltskin conjures and tosses a small pouch, heavy with gold coins, and Gaston catches it on instinct.

"She should only be a short ways down the road. Now, _get out_." And with another flick of his wrist, Gaston is drug backwards by invisible hands, through the drawing room, across the flagstone, out the door, and into the storm. The Dark Castle's doors swing shut with an emphatic clang.

This last series of tricks leaves Rumplestiltskin dizzy and, a moment later, retching on the floor. He hasn't been ill in centuries. Is this sickness caused by intolerable grief? Or has the curse...shifted somehow? He rests his forehead against the cool floor, and the room spins. He remembers the feel of her warm lips pressed to his terrible mouth, warm hands pressed against his rigid shoulders, her impossibly blue eyes. And her lovely voice assuring him, _"You're not a monster." _What has that damned girl done to him?

Outside the lightning flashes and the rain pours down.


	2. The Forest

Belle is grateful-if gratitude is applicable in this horrid situation-that she has already traveled this uneven path once today. The storm clouds have hidden the moon from view, and there is very little light to guide her feet over the slippery terrain. But she knows her way to town, and she steps carefully and determinedly over fallen branches and wide puddles.

She may be shivering and soaked to the bone, but she knows where she is headed, and she isn't afraid. Belle made a friend in town today.

On the wind, somewhere far off behind her, she hears a cry. "Belle!" Not his voice, _no,_ this one is lower, but familiar somehow. She cocks her head to the side and listens, standing very still.

From around a bend emerges the most improbable sight: Gaston, wrapped in her blue cloak, running after her. "Belle!" She hears the elation in his voice as he spots her, and an involuntary little bark of a laugh escapes from her throat at the unexpectedness of it all.

With a little leap, he very nearly clears a fallen tree, but at the last moment his sturdy black boot catches on a branch, and Gaston falls headlong into a very large, very cold mud puddle.

"Are you hurt?" She rushes over and catches him under his elbow, carefully helping him to his feet.

"No, no. I don't think so." He grimaces and wipes at the wet dirt on his face and clothes before removing the cloak, still warm from his body, giving it a firm shake, and draping it over her head and shoulders. "Are _you_ alright, Belle?"

"I'm in one piece, just a bit hungry and chilled, that's all. How on earth did you come to be here?"

"I really cannot say. The last thing I remember is standing at the entrance to the Dark Castle, challenging The Dark One to a duel. And then...nothing. Just a short while ago, I found myself suddenly standing before him once more, but this time within the castle. It was very dark. Everything was smashed all to pieces, as if we had fought, and the furniture was overturned, but I cannot recall dueling him, only that he tossed me your cloak and this bag of coins and then turned me out. He said he was finished with you."

She smiles a grim, private little smile at this, and Gaston takes her firmly by the shoulders, "If he harmed you in any way..." He makes a gallant motion to leave her, turning back toward the Dark Castle.

"No, I am unharmed." This partial truth is necessary. She doubts Rumplestiltskin would have the self-mastery to spare Gaston's life twice in a day. She remembers the wreckage she saw in the drawing room before throwing open the castle doors and walking out into the storm. She has no doubt his grief, coupled with his precious magic, is fiery, destructive, and exceedingly dangerous.

They take in the strange sight of each other for a beat. "I _am_ glad you're okay," says Gaston, a smile playing around the corners of his handsome mouth and eyes. "Just look at us. Two drowned rats. We look a fright."

It isn't True Love (and she cannot help but think that of course he _would _notice appearances, even in this strange situation), but he did come all this way to rescue her. She takes his arm.

"I know the way to town. Perhaps if we hold on to each other we'll manage it without you falling down again." Belle gives his arm a friendly squeeze. "I met a kind old woman earlier today who runs a tavern and inn with her granddaughter. Let's go visit her and see if we can't dry ourselves out by the fire."

"A hot meal, a tankard of ale, and a warm spot by the fire," Gaston agrees, and they walk in a companionable silence toward the twinkling lights of town.


	3. The Tavern

Granny's Tavern is wonderfully snug, with a crackling fire in the stone hearth, battered wooden tables, and a small clutch of musicians improvising with fiddles, tin whistles, drums and a lone guitar. The dwarves seated along the bar and at the communal tables take no notice of the young couple standing near the door, wringing rainwater from their clothing. Rather, they are absorbed in happy conversation and the warm glow of ale and good food after a hard day's work in the mines.

Granny, who has just finished laying fresh logs on the fire, notices them straightaway, however.

She straightens, brushing the soot from her hands on a well-worn apron, and hustles over. Though advanced in years, she radiates vigor and capability. Gaston is reminded of a spritely, seasoned general, one who would lead troops into battle with brave quips and a sword held high.

"I confess, I didn't expect to see you again so soon, Belle." Granny levels her with an appraising look. "Did you heed my advice? Is this him?" The old woman casts a doubtful glance at Gaston.

"No, Granny, this is...a friend. A childhood friend who traveled all the way from my father's kingdom to make sure I am well." Granny raises her eyebrows at this because Belle most certainly does not look well. With her red-rimmed eyes and sodden clothing, Belle looks altogether pitiable.

"And I did heed your advice, Granny. The results were just...not what I hoped."

"Hmph," is all Granny says to that, wisely letting the topic drop when the girl cuts eyes discreetly at her handsome companion. "Well, the first order of business is dry clothes for both of you. Ruby!"

A truly exquisite girl emerges from behind the bar, a full head taller than Belle, but with the same pale skin and chestnut curls. The likeness is astonishing, really. They could be sisters.

At Ruby's approach, Gaston dips into a low bow and, rising, meets the barmaid's eyes for a fraction of a moment longer than is strictly decorous. Ruby smiles and drops a pretty curtsy.

"It is a pleasure," says Gaston, now including Granny in his bow, "My name is Gaston de Labelle. We do appreciate your hospitality."

Granny brushes this gallantry aside with a quick flick of her wrist. "And this is my granddaughter, Ruby. Sweetheart, take Belle and her strapping friend upstairs for a change of attire. I'll put together a meal that will soon bring the color back to their cheeks." Off Granny bustles.

A narrow staircase behind the bar leads to a cozy suite of rooms, apparently belonging to the elderly proprietress and her granddaughter. Gaston is handed a bundle of things that used to belong to Ruby's father ("They'll be a bit snug," Ruby tells him, lightly teasing, and that certainly does bring the color back to his cheeks) and then guides Belle to a small back bedroom and pulls the door shut behind them.

"I'm afraid all of my dresses will hang quite long on you, but we'll have yours clean and dry in no time." Ruby opens her wardrobe and pulls down a simple peasant gown with full sleeves and a red bodice. "You must be chilled to the bone. However did you and your friend come to be traveling on such a wet night?"

"We...displeased our former host," Belle murmurs.

"Well, he must have quite the temper, turning you out on a night such as this."

Ruby's nimble fingers make quick work of the stays cinching Belle's blue dress. The barmaid's easy kindness and proximity bring unexpected tears to Belle's eyes, and she tries to keep her voice steady as she whispers a soft, "Thank you."

"It's nothing, truly. Let's see if we can't get a comb through your hair." Ruby smiles and reaches out to press a hand to Belle's wet cheek for a moment.

This kind gesture breaks what little is left of her _bravery_ and _resolve_, and suddenly Belle is crying great gulping gasps, sobbing into the shoulder of her startled hostess.

"What is it? What did I say?" Ruby folds her into a tight hug.

"_He didn't want me_!" Belle sobs. "_He didn't want me! He didn't want me...enough._" Regardless of whether Rumplestiltskin would regret his choice one day or was regretting it this very moment, regardless of the ripple of pink human skin confirming that what was between them was indeed True Love, regardless-he had made his choice, and he had chosen magic and immortality over her, and she would likely never see him again. He had her heart, and she would have to go on living without it.

"_Who _didn't want you, Belle?" Gaston stands, still as stone, in the doorway.


	4. The Bedchamber

Cold sweat beads on Rumplestiltskin's brow and runs in small rivulets between his angular shoulder blades and along his collar bones. Darkness obscures the edges of his vision, making the hallway leading to his bedchamber appear impossibly long. The journey from the floor of the drawing room, up the stairs, to the West Wing has been excruciatingly slow.

If he could only lay down and sleep until this infirmity passes.

In his room, on the little bedside table, is a tonic that will send him off into the deepest of trances, and when he awakens his vigor will be completely restored. It's a gem of a potion, quite simple really, and one that he has relied on more nights than not. Especially since _she_ came into his home. And even more especially since he made her the present of a proper bedchamber in the West Wing, quite close to his. Natural sleep had all but eluded him with Belle slumbering only a few paces down the hall.

Rumplestiltskin braces himself with one hand against a wall, focusing his efforts on the twenty or so steps he will need to travel in order to arrive at his bedchamber door. And then-then only a few staggering steps to his cot. (Though the chamber itself is opulent, he sleeps best on a simple pallet, a reminder of happier times with his boy in their modest thatched hut.)

The voices have returned, urgently whispering to him about the future. Rumplestiltskin has held them at bay for an eternity now, effortlessly teasing out the pertinent tidbits and allowing the rest to slip through his fingers. Now the din is maddening. When he attempts to draw on the power of The Dark One to curtail the babble about a future that _is, or might be, or shall be, or could be,_ nausea overtakes him, and he can think of nothing but the twisting in his gut and the throbbing of his temples.

"Belle." He is outside her chamber now, and for a moment he is certain that she is within. _She is still angry with him. Furious. But-however implausible-she loves. She waits. She would not leave him. He need only push open the door, and she will…_

The room, of course, is empty.

It's tidy, save for the books stacked haphazardly on tables and near the fireside settee. A single volume lies open, face-down upon her coverlet. The gilt lettering on the rose-red cover reads, "Evangeline."

Without knowing how, he is standing beside her bed, bent at the waist, his fingertips pressed to the slender volume. A tremor runs through him, and a moment later he is curled on her coverlet, the book clutched tightly in his hands. Rumplestiltskin remembers…

_It was past midnight, so the light burning within Belle's chamber had taken him by surprise. He had finished his spinning for the evening, and was on his way to the North Tower to struggle once more with the intricate curse that would bring him one step closer to Bae._

_She had called out: "Rumple?"_

_Belle sat on the floor, close to the fire (she had built and tended it herself, foolish girl, when he had expressly told her he would see to it whenever she wanted a blaze in her bedchamber) with a look of guileless delight playing across her lovely features. It was the first time she had called him "Rumple."_

_"May I read a passage aloud to you? It's so exquisite." Belle did not bother to turn to see if he would come. Even then, before they brushed lips, she must have known that he was nothing more than a poor wretch willing to go where she pointed. Willing to die for her. Willing to give up everything-everything except his boy._

_She began: "This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks/ Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight…"_

_He took his seat behind her on the settee. He let her delight wash over his old soul._

_"Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient/ Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion/ List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest…"_

_"It's like nothing I've ever read before!" Belle exclaimed, turning to fix him with a look that set his heart pounding. "Where did you find it?"_

_He had swallowed and attempted an offhand tone: "The volumes in the Dark Castle's library come from many realms. My tastes run to the...esoteric."_

_She had smiled. "I've read it twice through already. Will you read a bit aloud? Your voice is so wonderfully expressive."_

_Rumplestiltskin had watched her very carefully, very cautiously as she drew closer, passing him the slender volume, then resting her back, quite near his legs, against the little sofa. At last, he began to read. "List to a Tale of Love in Acadie…"_

_She sighed, at his voice, and as he continued the poem, Belle's head dipped lower until her cheek had come to rest against his outer thigh and her dark curls had spilled over the hand that he rested on the settee. It was indescribably sweet and entirely unbearable. With an unsteady voice, he continued to read until he realized that his sweet caretaker had fallen fast asleep._

_And how could he bring himself to move? It was absolutely imperative that he wake her. He could feel the hot, heavy ache between his thighs, the longing that would never be satisfied, and he shifted in his misery. He imagined...such shameful things._

_She was an innocent. She was unfailingly kind to him. She knew nothing of his desires. And yet he imagined…_

Rumplestiltskin rests his aching, fevered head against Belle's pillow. He has drawn one of her soft, sweet-smelling blankets up around his shoulders. Everything in this room smells of her. It comforts him. It inflames him. He will sleep here tonight. His bedchamber is impossibly far off.

_Dream-Belle is not fast asleep against his thigh. Dream-Belle turns to look up at him from under long lashes when he stops reading. And he imagines...that she wants him. It's what he's imagined-fantasized about-during his most private moments since he brought her into his home. Dream-Belle...desires him. It's absurd, but once the fantasy begins, he is powerless to stop it._

_Dream-Belle turns to him and, sitting on her knees, gently spreads his legs apart with her hands. She keeps her eyes on his as she tenderly unlaces his too-tight britches and then, freeing him, presses feather-light kisses to his length before mercifully taking him into her warm mouth._

_Dream-Belle cherishes his first gasp and the pleading sounds he makes and the way his hips buck up in a frantic, needy rhythm. And when, a very short while later, Rumplestiltskin begins panting out nonsense, "Please Belle! I need to...I need to...Please, don't stop, Belle...I'm going to…" she twines her fingers in his, and her hot mouth helps him over the precipice._

_She holds him tightly as the shudders run through his body. She wants this. She adores him. She won't leave._

Rumplestiltskin imagines dream-Belle pressing her cool forehead to his afterwards. He imagines her brushing a damp lock of hair out of his eyes. He imagines a kiss, longer and deeper than their first. At long last, he sleeps.

When he awakens, the Seer's cursed gift of future-sight is gone. The voices have fallen eerily silent. And Rumplestiltskin's right leg has begun to ache.


	5. The Hearth

The tavern is nearly empty when Belle finally descends the back stairs.

Ruby (who she is quickly coming to realize is a most excellent friend to have) had firmly ejected Gaston from the bedroom, loudly admonishing him, "_Never_ enter a lady's bedchamber without her permission!" After securing the door once more, Ruby had extracted the entire sorry tale of love lost from Belle: Her sacrifice for her people. Her early sorrows and fears. Her growing affection for Rumplestiltskin. Her determination to win his heart and his freedom with True Love's kiss. Her miscalculation and subsequent expulsion from The Dark Castle.

When she finished, over an hour later, Ruby took Belle's hands in hers and said, "I have a confession."

"Do you think you can top mine?" Belle had asked with a teary laugh.

Ruby grinned, "Granny actually told me your story earlier today, after you left the tavern. I wanted to hear it again from your own lips. The idea of someone falling in love with The Dark One..."

"There's good in him. It's been buried by loneliness and the curse, but…"

Ruby squeezed Belle's hands tightly to stop her. "You don't need to explain. I understand. Or, at least, I understand a little. He stops here sometimes, you know. On his way to who-knows-where to make deals, I presume. I've never seen a creature who looked more entirely _alone_."

_"Loneliness is a curse," Granny had explained to Belle that very afternoon, "A horrible curse. Men think they want power, immortality, wealth. Bah! All any man truly wants is to protect and provide for his family and to be loved faithfully, for himself. Go home to your Master, Belle. Make him a happy man."_

With a wan smile, Belle stood. "I think I had better go speak with Gaston."

Gaston waits by the fire, which has burned down to the embers. His plate of food is untouched, but his tankard is empty. He doesn't look at her when Belle takes the seat next to his.

When he speaks, his voice is weary and without inflection: "If I didn't know you better...Belle, can you really have feelings for that monster?"

"I love him." There's nothing more to tell, really.

Granny walks over and silently places a warm plate of food and a glass of ale on the table near Belle. She hurries off.

Suddenly, Gaston is on his feet and pacing. "You begged me-_begged me!_-to release you from our troth not three days before he bargained for you like...like _chattel_, like a _trinket!_ And I agreed! Do you know how I suffered, not knowing if you were alive or dead...not knowing how he intended to _use_ you?" He turns and the heartbreak in his eyes is very real. "Belle, did you agree to his deal to escape...me?"

"No! _No._ Of course not." She watches him sadly. "Gaston, we were children together. Do you remember what I called you? My _summer brother_...when we spent our summertides at Papa's estate by Lake Alexandrina?"

"Yes, I remember. Of course I remember. You were my _summer sister_. Even then, in your dirty smocks and pantaloons, you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. We built such wonderful hideaways." He sighs. "We could have been happy together, Belle."

"Not with the ogres at our door, Gaston."

"Leaving the ogres out of it, then! We...care for each other, don't we? It would have been enough. Enough to build a life on."

"Perhaps for a while," Belle admits. "But you-and I-deserve more than just 'enough.' You _will_ meet your True Love one day, Gaston. I know it. And I will toast the both of you at your wedding."

Gaston takes his seat, defeated. "When do you want to leave for home?"

"I'm not coming home. Not yet." This pronouncement is met with a stunned silence. "I need to ask one last favor, my summer brother. Will you deliver a letter to Papa from me? I wrote to him many times telling him I was safe and...not unhappy in the Dark Castle. Though it seems both you and he may have disbelieved me. Now I need to tell him that I've decided to have a bit of an adventure, and that I love him, and that I will see him again someday soon."

"Traveling alone is plenty dangerous for a man in this kingdom, let alone a pretty girl. I cannot dissuade you, Belle?"

"You know that I've waited my whole life for something...extraordinary. _This is my chance_, Gaston." They sit in silence for a time, each taking small bites of Granny's dinner. Belle sips her ale.

"Then you'll need this," Gaston says at last. He places a small pouch of gold in her hand and closes her fingers over it. "Slide the letter under my door tonight. I'm the third door on the left on the main level. I'll be leaving tomorrow at first light. Your father is beside himself with worry, and I won't keep him waiting. How he'll ever forgive me for letting you go again, I don't know."

Gaston stands, then bends to press a light kiss to her forehead. "Please. _Be safe_, Belle."

In the morning, he finds two letters tucked under his door. One addressed to "Papa" and one addressed to him.

_Gaston_, it reads, _I will never forget your loyalty, nor the kindness you've shown me. I wish you every happiness. Kiss Papa for me. ~Your Summer Sister._


	6. The North Tower

_"Fucking hell!"_

Rumplestiltskin hurls a half-empty bottle against the stone wall with all of his strength, and it explodes in a shower of tinkling glass and blue smoke.

_"Goddamn it all to hell!"_

He picks up another small potion bottle and repeats the action. Then another and another and another. _"Goddamn it!"_ An open spell book on the work table catches his attention next, and he knocks it to the floor with one furious swipe of his arm. He looks dementedly around the room, searching for something else to destroy.

A _fucking_ _looter_ had entered his castle, searching for God-knows-what among his hard-won treasures, and he, _The Dark One_, had just barely managed to best the prowler in a lengthy sword fight. The would-be thief's body lay cooling on his parlor floor, and he, _The Dark One_, had sustained flesh wounds to his arms and chest that he couldn't properly heal with even _the simplest of curative spells because his power was all but gone and his right leg was throbbing and_-he overturned his workbench with a furious shriek. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he glared around the room. A stinging wind rushed in through a broken window.

He couldn't stay here any longer.

The protective spells surrounding the Dark Castle had dwindled to nothing, the food had all but run out (and he certainly couldn't conjure his meals by magic nowadays, could he?), the place was freezing and filthy, littered with debris from his daily fits of rage. And every unkempt, grimy room was a reminder of the girl who had cleaned and warmed them. Warmed _him_.

Also, _also_...time was running out.

The gift of prophesy had left Rumplestiltskin the night Belle fled, but before it vanished entirely he was made to understand that there would be but a short window of time to deliver the Dark Curse to Regina.

It _must_ be in her possession before the birth of King and Queen Charming's baby girl. If he waited any longer...if he waited until after the royal birth, some..._force_ would come into her life-a lover? a friend? it wasn't clear-that would gentle her soul beyond any dark influence. And he couldn't allow that. Regina _must_ cast the curse. He _must_ find Bae and tell him...tell him what, exactly, he wasn't sure. That his father loved him and was a coward? That he had spent lifetimes searching for him, trying to right a wrong that could never, ever be made right? He truly didn't know. His boy was grown now, somewhere...he knew that much from the Seer's curse, so he couldn't even offer Bae the protection he deserved as a child. Only a father's penitence. Only his shame.

_And yet..._he also couldn't so much as _cast a simple fucking transmigration spell_ that would transport him to Regina's castle.

Traveling on horseback, through the forests, the journey would take a full week, maybe more. By cart or carriage, sticking to the safer main roads, at least three weeks. Either path would take him through ogre country. And while he'd had several lifetimes to perfect his swordplay and archery, this afternoon had proved that he couldn't do either particularly well while limping around on his one good leg.

He must set out immediately, this evening, but the idea of leaving the meager protection of the Dark Castle's walls with nothing but the simplest of potions, his staff, and what little gold he could carry both enraged and terrified him. He limped over to the stone wall and slammed his fist once, twice, three times into the craggy rock. His knuckles bled, but his predicament and his fear remained.

What form should he take? His powers may be gone (_damn her! damn everything!_), but he still _looked_ the part of The Dark One with reptilian eyes and shimmering skin.

Point of fact, he looked positively deranged; his filthy hair long and snarled, his layers and layers of stiff, dirty dragonhide hanging unevenly, his eyes dark and wild. Perhaps his feral appearance would be enough to warn off would-be dealmakers and other, more dangerous creatures.

On the other hand, who would pay any real attention to a poor, limping peasant, draped in a dirty, homespun cloak? It was a gambit he had used successfully in the past. And the limp-_dammit all to hell_-the limp was real. The filth was real.

"Tick tock, dearie," he whispered to himself, a dark, desperate laugh bubbling up in his throat. "Tick tock."


	7. The Tavern, Part II

"And again!" Granny bellows. "Swords up, ladies! Look alive!" A crisp autumn wind swirls around her brown skirts, raising and scattering red and yellow leaves across the forest floor. With her jaunty feathered chapeau, tilted in a most rakish manner over one eye, Granny is every inch the daring general.

Ruby and Belle circle each other, their eyes dancing with mirth.

Belle raises her wooden sword in a menacing fashion, but her shoulders shake with barely suppressed laughter, and Ruby snorts, which sends them off into peals of hilarity.

"On guard!" Belle yells, before doubling over with mirth and then collapsing to her knees on the forest floor, giggling like a madwoman. Seizing the opportunity, Ruby runs over and pokes her with her wooden blade. "Victory is mine!" she yells in mock triumph, then also collapses to the ground, and both girls laugh until their sides are aching and they are completely out of breath.

"It is my professional opinion that both of you are completely hopeless," Granny declares, doing her utmost to look stern. "I suspect that you'll be tavern wenches forever. It's all you're good for." She harrumphs, but there is a delighted twinkle in her eye. It's good for Ruby to have a friend. Particularly one as estimable as Belle.

"Oh Granny, we're sorry!" Ruby gasps out between giggles, desperately trying to draw breath. "We'll try harder."

"Yes," promises Belle, barely able to speak for laughing. "We'll focus." The girls did their very best to look contrite.

"Bah, it's nearly lunchtime anyhow," Granny shrugs. "We should go get the kitchen and tables ready for the masses. We'll try again tomorrow morning. And know this: I will take a switch to both of you if you so much as smile during practice!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Belle and Ruby chorused, walking arm-in-arm back towards the tavern, and Ruby raised a saucy little salute, which earned each of them a swift thump on the backside from Granny's wooden sword.

The past six weeks spent with Granny and Ruby-living at the inn, working at the tavern-have been some of the happiest Belle has ever known. The two women are free and easy with her in a way no one dared to be in her father's kingdom once she reached marriageable age. They tease her, correct her, teach her to do practical things like bake bread, season cast iron skillets, break up bar fights between drunks (a brandished skillet or, in a pinch, a rolling pin works), and how to haggle successfully for goods at the market.

Also, Granny is an excellent, endlessly patient instructor of swordplay. And Ruby, who has been tutored in the art of self-defense since she came into Granny's care as a young girl, is a worthy opponent.

Belle has no doubt that when the right adventure presents itself-and adventures do present themselves, almost daily, with travelers stopping in at Granny's Tavern en route to all sorts of dangerous and thrilling places-that she will be amply prepared. Belle, on the whole, is happy.

"Still," she thinks, tying on an apron and beginning to form loaves from the large mound of rye dough rising on the kitchen countertop, "I wonder where he is right now, at this very moment. I wonder if he is well."

The Dark Castle, high on its hill, is visible from the town's open-air market, and Belle will often find herself lost in thought while purchasing flour or fruit or somesuch, contemplating the far off ramparts and turrets, stark against the clear autumn sky. She envies those who have business with him, envies them fiercely. (And how foolish is that? She knows that those who come to him are often desperate souls, out of options.) Yet, it seems entirely unfair that those with desperate or greedy or malicious intent should be able to look upon him, see if he is well and spritely and hale, and that she, who loves him, doesn't dare go near him.

"The lunch crowd is arriving!" Ruby calls, ducking her lovely head into the kitchen. "Are you feeling more 'saucy tavern serving wench' or 'skulking behind the scenes dishwasher' today, Belle?" Ruby's eyes sparkle, and her jesting wins a smile.

"You know that tips are better when you take orders," Belle replies with mock dejection. Then, in a more serious tone: "Honestly, my head is...off somewhere else today." She gestures vaguely at the ceiling. "May I take both back room shifts: lunch and dinner?"

"Surely." And Ruby, bless her, says nothing more, just waggles her fingers and eyebrows as she struts off to relieve the lunch crowd of their hard-earned coin.

The day passes in a warm haze of bread baking, meal preparation, and scrubbing plates, utensils, and tankards in a large vat of sudsy water. There is a cozy family meal of biscuits and stew at four, where the women gorge themselves on Granny's cooking in preparation for another evening of hard work.

The time in the kitchen passes quickly, not like Belle's time in the Dark Castle, which would crawl by when Rumplestiltskin was away on a deal or out of temper and avoiding her. Belle snacks on warm rye bread and puts her feet up when she can, absorbing herself in a book during lulls. Granny's library is absolutely delicious. Belle's father's library contained little but royal history and royal lineage; the Dark Castle's library was mostly high literature and philosophy; but a good portion of Granny's library is autobiography and biography. Scandalous, true tales of adventure and romance. She and Ruby read the most tantalizing bits to each other late at night by candlelight, whispering so as not to wake up Granny. The tavern library has been _most_ educational.

"Belle, sorry, but I may need your help." Ruby stands at the entrance to the kitchen, looking weary. "There's a sad sack sort out there. He's in his cups. But I don't think he needs my rough handling. Something tells me he has nowhere else to go." Belle and Ruby have a division of labor that plays to their strengths: Ruby handles the angry drunks; Belle handles the weepy ones. "If you ease him out the door, I'll wipe down the tables and lock up?"

Belle sighs, laying aside her book and removing her apron. As she rises from her stool, she realizes how much she yearns for her cozy room and her soft bed. She follows Ruby out of the kitchen.

In a corner, far from the warmth and light of the fire, slumps a traveler. Three empty tankards surround him on the wooden table and two more have rolled onto the floor near his mud-splattered boots, dirty satchel, and wooden walking staff. His head, covered by a stained and threadbare cloak, is nearly resting on the table. He is a sorry sight, and Belle's heart goes out to him. She will see him fed and housed, if he's in need. There are empty rooms at the inn tonight, and Granny, though outwardly gruff, would never turn away a destitute traveler.

"Sir?" Belle says softly, careful not to startle the wretch should he have actually fallen asleep sitting up in his chair. "Sir?" He makes no movement, and inexplicably Belle's heart begins to beat faster. She takes a seat near his. "Sir?" she tries again, this time resting an open hand against his forearm, ever so lightly. The knuckles on his right hand are scraped and bloodied. Slowly, the traveler raises his head, the cloak falling back just enough for the firelight to play across his glittering skin.


	8. The Bedchamber, Part II

_"It's you."_

Belle's whole world has shrunk to these few details: Rumplestiltskin is sitting in front of her, in the flesh; he is dressed in filthy rags, the sort even the poorest peasant would be ashamed to wear; there is a gash along his brow, dried blood upon his knuckles, a series of deep cuts on his forearms, and an even more fearsome looking wound visible where his thin tunic falls open at the chest.

_"Rumple, you're hurt."_ She cannot draw breath. She cannot hear the noises of the tavern over the rushing in her ears. She pushes the hood back and carefully takes his face in her hands, her eyes darting from wound to wound. His golden skin is damp and feverish.

Rumplestiltskin's eyes cannot or will not focus on her face. Belle watches as they roll from the fire to the bar to the table to someplace far off in the distance. For a brief moment, his gaze seems to fall on her, and his brow furrows as he struggles to understand who is speaking, but it's as if he's swimming through murky water and cannot make out her face.

When she withdraws her hands, he slumps forward once more in his chair.

_"Ruby!"_ Cries Belle, standing. "I need you!"

Both Ruby and Granny are at her side in an instant. "Oh, Belle!" Ruby exclaims, "It's-_him_."

"Well, he looks as though he was rode hard and put away wet, doesn't he?" Granny shakes her head. "I'll bring the plasters and some clean towels to your room, Belle. Ruby-stop gaping, girl. Go fetch some hot water and a bar of soap-not the soap from the kitchen. The fresh one from my chamber."

"Rumple?" Belle kneels down beside him, gently brushing the thicket of tangled hair away from his eyes. "Can you stand? I'll help you."

She gingerly lifts his unscathed hand and places it around her shoulders. "Ready?" Belle rises slowly, carefully, supporting almost all of his weight with her own slight body. "It's not far to go...just a bit further...then you can rest."

The tavern's main hall is a maze of chairs and tables, and Rumplestiltskin stumbles a few times as Belle anxiously guides him through the dining room, down a narrow hall, and into her bedchamber. He seems to be favoring one leg.

She settles him with great care into a wingback chair facing the fireplace, then draws up a stool to sit upon. Gently, ever so gently, she unties his dirty cloak and removes it. She speads his rough tunic open at the neck, examining the length and depth of his chest wound. His body has sunken in on itself-six weeks ago he had a slim, wiry build, but now he looks nearly emaciated. She glances up at his face. His eyes have fallen shut.

She examines his arms next, then his knuckles, sucking in her breath at the painful-looking gashes.

Belle carefully removes his muddy boots and stockings, seeking the cause of his limp. She flinches at the sight of his right ankle. There seems to have been a break that healed poorly-several breaks, more likely. Free of the boot, the foot twists down and inward. There is a large lump of bone, prominent above the ankle itself, and his toes are flattened and misshapen.

"Oh Rumple," she breathes. None of this makes any sense. Rumplestiltskin can heal himself instantaneously from even the most grievous of injuries. During her time in the Dark Castle he seemed to delight in displaying mortal wounds in a most showy fashion-an arrow through his chest, an arm nearly detached, a sword-pierced shoulder-and waiting for her gasp of concern. He would then mend himself in front of her eyes, sometimes throwing in a little bow . Belle had begun to suspect that he secretly savored her concern and enjoyed drinking it in in quick, sneaky sips.

Also, she'd certainly never seen Rumplestiltskin drink himself into a stupor. The strongest liquors-even absinthe from the loathesome Green Faeries-had no impact. Belle had watched him match deal-makers drink for drink, even dwarves and witches, and remain clear headed while his "guests" slept it off on the floor.

Granny enters the room with Ruby on her heels.

"Shall we light a fire and leave you to it, Belle? Or would you like some help?" Granny glances over distrustfully at the strange figure slumped in the chair.

"Will you help me with his shirt, Granny? And then will the two of you help me lie him on the bed?"

Granny and Belle carefully remove Rumplestiltskin's tunic while Ruby turns down the coverlet on the bed and places the warm water, soap, and plasters on the bedside table. "I brought some clean clothes, Belle, and a glass of water if you can coax him to drink it. I suspect his head will be pounding tomorrow."

Ruby picks the dirty clothing and boots up off the floor, while Granny lights a fire. Rumplestiltskin groans softly as the women help him across the room and settle him on the featherbed. Belle sets to work at once, cleansing his wounds as delicately as possible before applying the plasters. While she is working on his arm, he groans and attempts to jerk it away, but she catches him by the hand, saying, "I'm so sorry, Rumple. Hold still for me. This will go faster, and it won't hurt as much." His eyes remain closed, and he appears to relent.

Granny watches Belle work for a spell. One thing she'll say for the nobility of the Marchlands: a decade or so of war has turned them into fine physicians. "We'll leave you to it, then. Just call if you need anything." Belle doesn't respond, so absorbed is she in applying a plaster to Rumplestiltskin's forehead. Ruby closes the door with a soft click.

When all his injuries are washed and tended, Belle turns her attention to wiping the grime and perspiration from his motionless face and gaunt torso. At last, she pulls the soft cotton bedclothes up over his chest, careful of the drying plaster.

His face is turned towards her on the pillow, and she cannot help herself from sitting on the side of the bed and running her fingers over his brow and across his parted lips. Next, she lets her fingers slip into his snarled hair, and brushes a kiss against each closed eyelid. Touching his hair, a warm memory washes over her.

_Rumplestiltskin is lost in thought, staring out the soaring windows in the drawing room. Most likely thinking about deals to be made or already in progress. Belle studies him. His clothing and ornamentation has become simpler during the past few months. No more jeweled brooches and high, buttoned collars. His hair hangs down past his shoulders._

_"Rumple?" She leaves the tea tray on the table and carries over his favorite cup.  
_

_"Mmm?" he responds, taking the cup from her and breathing in the warm steam.  
_

_"Shall I cut your hair?"  
_

_He pauses, mid-sip. "Whatever for?"  
_

_"It's gotten a bit longish and wild. It seems like the sort of thing a caretaker would see to." She raises her eyebrows, curious to see what he'll make of the offer.  
_

_"You do know, I can take whatever appearance I choose. If I wanted to have short hair, I'd have short hair. If I wanted to look like the most refined and handsome man in the seven kingdoms, I could do that too." He turns away.  
_

_She's offended him. "You look fine as you are." She lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Please, forget I asked."  
_

_He stills, as he always does when she touches him. "On the other hand, we wouldn't want to set a bad precedent. Of you neglecting your duties."  
_

_Belle smiles up at him. "Shall I meet you in the garden then?" Rumplestiltskin exhales and nods.  
_

_When he walks out onto the castle lawn, Belle guides him to a chair that she has placed in the sunshine. He stiffens when she places her hands on his shoulders and remains rigid when she takes a wet comb to his curls, smoothing through the tangles. But when her fingers press against his scalp and she begins to pull and snip his hair, section by section, he nearly melts against her. She takes longer than is strictly necessary, sensing how pleasurable the experience is for him. Always, after that, Belle goes out of her way to touch him, once even daring to rest her cheek against his leg before drifting off to sleep in front of the fire.  
_

Gods, she loves him. She leans forward to lightly touch her lips to his exposed shoulder, then trails her fingertips along his arm. She brushes a kiss against the back of his wounded hand, then rises to leave him to his slumber, still holding onto his fingers.

"Please don't-" he mumbles.

Belle snatches her hand away as though she's been burnt.

"Please don't-please don't stop touching me," he rasps out.

Oh Gods, she can breathe again.

"Oh sweetheart...I won't..." Relief causes her hands to shake as she reaches out to caress his cheek. His eyes are open now, fixed on her. Belle leans in and presses soft kisses to his hairline allowing her own hair to fall forward, creating a fragrant curtain around them both. She feels wetness under her lips and pulls away, realizing that she has begun to cry.

With her left hand, she traces his collar bone. She slides her right under the blankets, grazing over his ribs, then stroking his sunken stomach. "You stopped eating," she whispers sadly.

"Wasn't hungry," he groans, then cries out softly as her fingertips brush over his lower abdomen. His eyes are wide and dark, the pupils swallowing up the amber. They hold each other's gaze until Belle slips her left arm beneath him and pulls him close to rest against her shoulder. He exhales a shaky breath, then presses a very soft, very uncertain kiss to her neck.

Despite her inexperience, despite the hard terms under which they parted, Belle suddenly wants nothing more than to do something daring and reckless that will bind them together-forever. Something that will stop him from ever, ever thinking of sending her away again.

Her fingers slide lower and she hears his breathing become more labored, more erratic. Again he pleads, "Please...please, love…" So she bravely slips her hand lower.

Her fingertips brush against something smooth and thick and hot. His hips jerk forward; he cries out, then muffles an expletive against her neck. "I don't know what I'm doing," she confesses, "Please, Rumple...tell me if I hurt you."

She continues her slow, tentative exploration, heart pounding wildly, listening carefully when he whimpers or pants under a certain kind of touch so that she might repeat it. When she boldly wraps her hand around him he cries our hoarsely, then captures her lips for a greedy, frantic kiss. A moment later, to his everlasting shame, he calls out as he comes in her hand.

Once the tremors have passed, Rumplestiltskin rolls on his side, curling in on himself, the pain in his chest and his arm be damned. The featherbed shifts under Belle's weight, and he feels her fit herself to his back, feels her hand brush away his hair so she can kiss the back of his neck again and again, feels her arms wrap around him. "I missed you. I missed you so much," she whispers, and at last they both fall asleep.


	9. The Satchel

Lovely, golden sunlight spills into Belle's bedchamber, dancing across the stone floor and lighting a particularly tender domestic scene: A comely young girl lays sleeping on top of the bedclothes, her brown hair spilling over a pillow. Her arms are wrapped tightly around a pale, slender man, whose careworn-but perfectly ordinary-face, is pressed against her neck. His rawboned chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm under the blankets. His bandaged hand rests upon her waist. It's just dawn, and all is still and quiet.

The sound of birds greeting the daybreak wakes Belle, and she hums a soft, happy hum deep in her throat at the feel of the head resting upon her shoulder and the soft hair that tickles her cheek. He smells of woodsmoke and the soap that she used last night. She brushes a whisper of a kiss to the crown of Rumplestiltskin's head, then carefully, very carefully slides out from beneath him. He murmurs something unintelligible into the pillow and slumbers on.

Standing beside her bed, straightening her creased dress, Belle catches her breath. The skin on Rumple's face and arms and back is a lovely pinkish-pale. The visible side of his face is still _his face_-but somehow not his face. It appears naked and unguarded without its golden armor. The lines etched by worry are deeper. This transformation is what he feared and railed against that dreadful night in the Dark Castle. It will be a hard blow. She will see to it that she is here when he wakes.

A good while later, when the sun is already high in the autumn sky, Rumplestiltskin awakens to the delicious scent of freshly baked rolls and the feel of a heavenly soft bed beneath him. In the netherworld between sleep and waking, he is warm and contented, his body sore, but completely at peace. He opens his eyes. Resting on the bedside table is his beloved chipped teacup and beside it is a cast iron teapot with steam rising from the spout.

"I hope you're hungry." Belle sets aside her book and rises from a chair by the fireplace. Her eyes are shining. It's the look he cursed himself for coveting when she lived under his roof.

"We found the teacup wrapped in cloth in the pocket of your cloak. You kept it all this time. My chipped cup." Her smile is radiant.

She is carrying over a covered pewter serving dish. He struggles to sit up quickly on the feather mattress, his eyes darting anxiously around the room. The movement pains him, but he grits his teeth against it and demands: "There was a satchel...with me, under the table. _Where is it?_" He glares up at her, inexplicably incensed.

"It's right here, Rumple, at your bedside." Belle retrieves a worn and dusty brown bag from the floor, and passes it to him. He rummages through it frantically until he is able to extract a small, rolled piece of parchment from an inner pocket. He releases the breath he was holding in a slow, shaky sigh.

Then his eyes fall upon the pale, pink hand holding up the scroll.

_"Gods, no!"_ Rumplestiltskin holds up his other hand, examining its front and back in the sunlight. Next, he fixes his devastated gaze on Belle. _"It's too late now._ I struggled for so long but now..._it's too late._" To her dismay, his face dissolves into grief, and he buries his head in his hands.

"_What's_ too late, Rumple?" She sets his cooling breakfast aside, sinks onto the bed, and wraps him in her arms. "What's too late?"

"My boy." His voice is muffled against his hands and her shoulder. "I was going to get my boy."

"The son that you lost? He's still alive?"

"He may as well be dead now. He's...nowhere I can reach him, not like _this_." He gestures with disgust toward this new body.

"So you needed your powers to retrieve your son." Belle marvels at this, understanding so much in an instant. "Oh, Rumple, if he's still alive, _we'll find him_. I will go with you."

"Like _this_?" he cries, abruptly and forcefully pushing her away. "How will that work exactly, _dearie_? I'll march right into the Queen's castle and beg a favor, shall I? I won't get past the barbican. She was meant to bargain for the curse before casting it, and _I cannot bargain when I look like a beggar_."

"We need the Queen to cast a curse?" Belle struggles to keep up. "Well, then we'll just have to find some way to convince her! You _will_ see your son again, Rumple, I swear it!" She captures his uninjured hand and presses it to her heart. For a long while, he will not meet her gaze, but at last he raises his head and looks at her. Rumplestiltskin's eyes are a lovely, deep brown.

"But first...eat something. Please. I'm worried you'll faint from hunger, you've grown so skinny." She smiles at him, and he looks down again, so ashamed is he to have her see him in this pitiful form. Before, he may have been exceedingly ugly, but he had his tremendous power. Now...he is less than nothing.

"There's no time, Belle," he says so softly she barely catches the words.

"Well-then, we must set out immediately! Your clothes and boots are there," she gestures briskly to a tidy, freshly laundered pile by the hearth. "I'll go pack a few things and have Ruby call us a carriage. But, please-" she says, already halfway out the door, "Eat a few bites first." Then she is gone.

Rumplestiltskin's eyes remain on the floor, but his lips curve upwards just the smallest, slightest little bit: a suppressed smile mingled with pain and hope.

At last, he lifts the cover off the serving platter on his bedside table and selects a roll. Next, he pours tea into his chipped cup and takes a small sip. It tastes heavenly.


	10. The Carriage

"I've sent Ruby to the main road to fetch a carriage," Granny announces when Belle walks out into the sunshine and stands beside her on the tavern steps.

"Thank you for the clothes, Granny, and the food." Belle gestures at the bundles surrounding them on the ground, waiting to be loaded into the carriage. "Thank you for taking me in."

"Pfft." Granny waves away her gratitude. "You want to thank me, girl? Come back in one piece and tell this old woman yourself that you are well. Tell me that you remembered what I taught you, and that it saved your pretty hide when danger arose. Come back so Ruby doesn't mope about forever with a sorry look upon her face, scaring away the customers."

"Oh, Granny!" Belle throws her arms around Granny's neck, and the old woman gives her a hard hug, patting her hair.

"Listen to me, Belle," Granny cautions, drawing back, "The Evil Queen is not to be trifled with. This isn't 'war games at court.' The danger is very real. As real as the ogres that were at your doorstep. And I don't think your...paramour will give you much aid. I've seen many broken men in my day, and, as he is now, he's but a husk of a fellow. If I were a younger woman, I would go with you…"

"Granny, you've done more than enough. You have Ruby to think of. Rumplestiltskin and I will return to you, and we will all have a celebration to rival Miner's Day!"

Granny smiles, enjoying Belle's pluck. "Perhaps we will. Perhaps. Take this, Belle. I'll sleep easier." She hands Belle a sheathed sword. "Your friend came into the tavern last night with a fine-looking bow and quiver. It's waiting here, too. No more games, Belle." Granny taps Belle's nose, then taps the sword firmly on its hilt.

"No more games, Granny,' Belle agrees. "I thank you with all my heart."

The door of the tavern opens, and Rumplestiltskin walks out into the brisk fall day, leaning heavily upon his wooden staff. He takes in the luggage and weaponry, but averts his eyes from the two women. He wears his thin, homespun traveling cloak with its hood thrown back. The precious satchel is slung over his shoulder.

"We'll leave as soon as Ruby arrives with the carriage, Rumple," Belle assures him, and at that very moment the trio hears the rattling of wooden wheels and the thrum of voices as a large carriage rounds the bend and approaches Granny's Tavern. Ruby alights from beside the weather-worn driver and runs to Belle, wrapping her in a tight, emotional embrace. "Don't be _too_ brave, Belle," Ruby begs, wiping at the tears that run down her cheeks. "Don't forget us."

"How could I forget you?" Belle laughs, "I'll be back, Ruby. After all, Granny's very nearly promised us a party. Do you remember the solstice celebration?" Ruby smiles through her tears, remembering the night of masks and spiced rum and dancing around the bonfire. She kisses Belle firmly on the cheek. "Goodbye," she says, then rushes inside, once again wiping at her eyes.

"Goodbye, Granny. For now. I'll bring back your sword." Belle presses her lips to the old woman's soft, wrinkled cheek, and then Granny too is gone, raising her apron discretely to one eye as she enters the tavern. She mutters something to herself about dust.

"They care deeply for you," Rumplestiltskin observes, his eyes fixed on the ground near Belle's feet.

"I've lived with them since…" She pauses. "Since the night of the storm. They taken wonderful care of me. At first, I thought I would stay here just long enough to find myself an adventure, but I loved feeling a part of their family. And, though I didn't admit it to myself, I couldn't bear the thought of losing sight of your castle."

He shakes his head, a ghost of a smile touching his lips, and reaches down to retrieve their luggage.

"Oh no, sir! Let me get that for you, sir! Please don't strain yourself!" The driver hops down, lickety-split, and takes the bundle from Rumplestiltskin's hands. It reminds him of what he is in the eyes of the world now: just an aging cripple in threadbare clothes, unable to lift his lady's bag. His shoulders slump, and he allows the driver to hand him up into the carriage and place his staff upon the roof. Belle follows, bringing the food hamper, a thick book, and Granny's sword.

Within the compartment, they settle themselves on opposite sides, knee-to-knee, next to the three other passengers. On Belle's left is an astonishing looking young woman, dressed in the garb of a warrior, with olive skin, a stern face, and long black hair knotted on top of her head. To Rumplestiltskin's right is a harassed-looking young mother with a dirty-faced boy who cannot be more than five.

"What are your names?" the young lad asks pertly when the carriage begins to roll forward.

"I'm Belle, and this is my friend Mr. Rumplestiltskin." Belle smiles at the grubby boy, which emboldens him.

"What's wrong with your leg, Mr. Stiltskin?"

The boy's mother, who looks as though she longs for a stiff drink, makes a motion to hush him. Rumplestiltskin stares out the carriage window.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" Belle asks, opening the hamper.

"Rowan, Miss Belle!" He puffs his little chest, evidently proud of his name and enjoying her attention.

"Sir Rowan, do you prefer plums or apples?"

"Plums, Miss!" says Rowan, glancing at his mother, who nods and tosses Belle a grateful look. Belle presents a plum from the picnic hamper with a little flourish that Rumplestiltskin recognizes as one of his own. She is trying to tease him out of his low mood, as she often did in the Dark Castle. "You should know, Sir Rowan," she cautions as the child bites into the juicy piece of fruit, making an even bigger mess of his face, "that all plums come with a price!"

"What is the price, Miss Belle?" asks Rowan nervously, eyeing his mother. They don't look like the sort of family that has coins to spare.

"You must keep me company while I read my book, Sir Rowan, and be my page turner." Belle holds up a well-loved volume of folk tales, and the young boy's face breaks into a wide grin. "Yes, Miss!" He finishes his fruit so quickly that Belle worries he'll give himself a bellyache. Then, after his mother makes several half-hearted swipes at his sticky face and fingers with the hem of her gown, Rowan settles himself onto Belle's lap, eager to begin.

"This is one of my favorites." Belle whispers in his ear, opening her book, "Far off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, and a prince in disguise! Shall I read it aloud to you, Rowan?" Belle glances at the silent, stern female passenger to her left, who nods her assent. Rowan agrees to this arrangement with enthusiasm, his little fingers poised to turn the first page.

"Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle…" Belle begins.

Rumplestiltskin listens, looking out the window, as the carriage rattles along the dirt road and the sun climbs higher in the autumn sky.


	11. The Yaoguai

The boy remains awake for three thrilling tales. Belle is a captivating storyteller: every villain, every virtuous maid, and every villager is given a distinct voice. Every hero is named Rowan.

At last, the rocking of the carriage and the warmth of the lap blanket that Belle has drawn around them proves too tranquilizing, and he drifts off to sleep in her arms, his fingers still pinching the edge of a page. After exchanging a bemused look with the boy's mother, Belle continues to read silently as the sun dips lower. Mother and son disembark from the carriage at a small town on the edge of a lake, and the two women are able to transfer the boy's sleeping form into his mother's arms without waking him.

"Would you like anything to eat?" Belle includes both Rumplestiltskin, who has remained pensive and silent throughout the journey, and the stern female stranger in this offer. She pulls three of Granny's delicious honey rolls from the food hamper. "I think we should be arriving at the inn soon, but I'm famished." The stranger accepts the roll with a nod and a quiet "thank you," but Rumplestiltskin shakes his head, his face blank and distant. His thumb and fingers brush past each other over and over on his lap as he stares out the window-a nervous habit Belle remembers well from the Dark Castle. She crosses the compartment to sit beside him, and presses her shoulder to his.

From her new seat, she notices the title of the leather-bound book the rests upon the other passenger's lap.

"Oh! You're studying the Yaoguai! Have you read the treatise by Kuok yet?"

The other woman is visibly startled by this observation. She glances from Belle's smiling face to Belle's sword on the floor of the carriage. "You're familiar with the Yaoguai?"

"Well, not personally, but I've read several books on the topic, and I've studied some etchings and maps."

"I was only aware of one book written about the Yaoguai." The stranger lifts the volume in her lap, displaying it for Belle.

"Well, let's see, there was the treatise by Kuok, the travelogue by Vong, and a work of 'historical fiction' by Lao, which I doubt was actually fiction since it predates all the others, yet the details are the basically same. And there's yours, of course."

"This is extraordinary! How did you come by such knowledge?"

"Well, someone gave me the gift of a rather extraordinary library, and I am an avid reader." Belle smiles at the memory.

The other passenger considers this, then offers, "My name is Mulan."

"And you probably heard before that mine is Belle. It's a pleasure to meet someone else who is interested in these arcane bits of lore! Have you read up to the point where your author surmises that the Yaoguai lives in this very forest?" Belle gestures excitedly to the dense pines outside the carriage window, casting shadows in the evening gloom.

Mulan glances at Rumplestiltskin, then considers in silence for a moment. "Your manservant, Belle, can he be trusted to keep a confidence?"

Rumplestiltskin is motionless save for the rubbing of his fingers. He gives no outward indication he has heard the slight, but Belle feels it hit home in the stiffening of his body against hers.

"He is not my manservant. He is my...traveling companion. And yes, I would trust him with my life."

Although Mulan does not appear to be completely at ease, she glances once more at the mute man staring out the carriage window, then continues, "I overheard your friend with the long, dark hair giving instructions to our driver. I know that you are headed to the Evil Queen's territory, and I also know that people do not travel there unless they are in some sort of trouble. My parents are great warriors and strategists, and they have brokered deals with the Queen in the past. I know her desires and her weaknesses. I will help you with the Queen if you will help me to find the Yaoguai."

"Mulan, I don't know that you need our help. You've tracked the beast this far. I can tell you that Kuok believed the Yaoguai to be fearful of water due to his fiery eyes, so I would avoid the lake we passed earlier. And Vong described the beast as nocturnal, so you would be safest tracking it by day..."

"It's not a beast; it's a man." Rumplestiltskin is speaking at last. His voice is hoarse from a day of disuse. "It's just a man who is cursed to wear the form of a beast. He will not harm you. He wants to be released. He just doesn't know how to help himself..."

"How do you know that? How do I release him?" Mulan is perplexed, but eager.

"Rumple is the one who gave me the library," Belle says quickly, not certain how much should be revealed to someone they've only just met, although this woman seems to be an honorable sort.

"I thank you, Sir," Mulan bows her head slightly toward Rumplestiltskin, "...and I apologize. I do know a good deal about the Queen, and I also know some of the safest, shortest routes through ogre country. Help me track and release the Yaoguai tomorrow morning, and I will be in your debt. I will accompany you all the way to the castle and help you accomplish whatever business it is you have with the Queen."

Belle glances at Rumplestiltskin, and he nods slightly. "We will help you," she agrees, just as the carriage rolls to a bumpy stop outside a thatched-roof inn called the Rose & Crown. Dusk has made way for night, and a harvest moon hangs low in the autumn sky.

Mulan exits the carriage first, but turns back to say, "I'll meet you at dawn by that cluster of trees," and she points to a small grove of pines not too many paces from the inn's front door. "Until morning..." She bows, then disappears inside the Rose & Crown.

Belle tucks her book of folktales into the food hamper, collects Granny's sword, and is the next to alight, retrieving Rumple's staff from the carriage roof. She takes his arm and carefully helps him down the little steps (a full day of sitting seems to have exacerbated the stiffness in his leg), enjoying the excuse to press her hands to his arms and ribcage. He holds tightly to her and his satchel. Their driver, whom Belle tips handsomely, has already carried their bundles inside. A wedding celebration seems to be in progress outside the inn. A bonfire blazes high in a nearby field, and the sounds of clinking glasses and raucous laughter carries on the wind.

"Rumple, will you get our room while I speak with the villagers by the fire? I want to see if any of them have encountered the Yaoguai or know someone who has."

"As my lady commands her manservant." The is a bitter edge to these words, though he tries to pass them off as a quip. Rumplestiltskin releases her arm and limps inside.

)-,-'-

After several fruitful conversations outside by the fire, Belle enters the Rose & Crown and looks round the mostly empty dining hall for Rumplestiltskin. He is nowhere to be found. She approaches the elderly barkeep and inquires, "Excuse me, sir, but my companion entered here less than an hour before. He was leaning on a wooden staff and wore a brown cloak. He was going to purchase our room for the night. Can you point me in the right direction?"

"Yes, miss, he was here. But he purchased two rooms for the night, and he left the other key for you." The barkeep hands Belle a brass key with the number "4" imprinted upon it.

It feels like a physical blow, this chosen separation, after she had curled herself against his back last night and held him until his ragged breathing slowed...after she had whispered how dear he was to her and how much she had missed him over and over and over until his body at last went limp with sleep. When he had jerked awake in the middle of the night with her name on his lips, she had held him even closer, repeating the endearments until he pressed his face against her neck, fisted her dress in his hands and slept once more.

She had been denied the opportunity to speak with him privately all day, and there was much they had to discuss.

"Can you tell me, sir, what room my companion is in?"

"Yes, miss. He is in the room adjoining yours, room number 5." The barkeep gestures to a hallway off the dining room, lit by candles within hanging glass lanterns.

"I'm afraid he and I haven't had much to eat today. Is there anything left over from the wedding celebration out front?"

"Oh, quite a lot, I should think, but the banquet is spread out by the fire in the field. You are most welcome to join. That's where all the other guests are now." He nods at the vast, empty dining hall.

"I thank you." Belle crosses the hall and makes her way down the dim corridor, stopping in front of the room with an ornate number "5" painted in gold upon the dark wood. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, she knocks lightly, and for a long time there is nothing but silence within. At last, she hears the scrape a chair against the floor and the thump, thump, thump of his wooden staff, nearing the door.


	12. The Wedding Banquet

He does not open the door. Instead, he speaks through it, quietly asking, "What is it?"

"Rumple, will you join me for dinner? There's a banquet laid out in the field."

She hears his soft sigh. "I am not hungry."

Belle sighs also and leans her forehead against the dark, solid wood. "Rumple," she says at last in a low, fierce voice, "Come out, or so help me I will find a way to break down this door." When he does not reply, she thumps three times, hard, with her fist. Finally, she hears him fumble with the latch, and his door swings slowly open.

The contents of his precious satchel are scattered across a four-poster bed: the parchment scroll that he was so frantic to find earlier today, several velvet pouches with golden drawstrings, crumpled maps, and a battered book bound in calfskin. His enchanted bow and quiver rest against the night table.

"I am not hungry," Rumplestiltskin repeats quietly, blocking her entrance with his body.

Yet, every part of him _looks_ hungry: his painfully lean frame, the deep hollows under his newly-brown eyes, the way he leans upon his staff, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turn white. What Belle sees, swaying in front of her, is a sad, weary man who is _starving._ Starving for tenderness. Starving for reassurance. Starving for human touch. Starving for loving words spoken face-to-face. But he is also desperately in need of a hearty, warm meal and a large mug of ale.

"Come with me anyways?" She covers his hand with hers where it grips the wooden staff. "The revelers are likely well into their cups by now, and I don't want to wade into a drunken crowd all on my own." He never could refuse her while under the spell of her touch. Rumplestiltskin nods.

"Ruby packed warmer things for both of us." Belle points beyond his shoulder to where their bundles rest on the floor, and he retrieves two heavy, maroon cloaks.

Each wrapped in the warm fabric, they walk out into the crisp night air. It smells of woodsmoke, roasted apples, and wet leaves. Wedding guests walk here and there, leaning on each other's shoulders and laughing loudly. The bridegroom and his new wife are off some distance from the bonfire, huddled together, their cheeks rosy from happiness and wine.

The banquet tables have been picked over, but there is still plenty left to make an excellent dinner. Crumbs from the half-eaten wedding cake are scattered across the trampled grass, and field mice dart here and there, collecting morsels and avoiding boots. Belle leads Rumple to the food and piles a plate high with all of his favorites: roast chicken, buttered turnips, baked apples, and a thick slice of coarse peasant bread with mulberry jam. (He prefers simple, rustic foods. She learned this while serving his meals in the Dark Castle, taking careful note of what he finished and when he requested seconds.) Next, she fills a tankard with ale and guides him to a wooden bench. It is a little apart from the laughter and the dancing, but close enough to the fire to enjoy the heat.

After Rumplestiltskin lays aside his staff and settles himself upon the bench, Belle places the plate of food resolutely on his knees. "This is for you, Rumple. And this, too." She hands him the tankard. "I'll go get myself something to eat and bring us both back some wedding cake." Belle smiles, then turns quickly on her heel and leaves him to his supper.

He tries a bit of bread first, just to pass the time, then some of the baked apples, and then-he cannot chew or swallow fast enough. He avoids the eyes of the revelers and eats and eats and eats, stopping only long enough to take deep, greedy gulps of the ale. When Belle returns, his plate is nearly empty. He sees that she has brought him a second plate of food. "I brought some other things to try. And this cake looks delicious." She settles beside him on the bench, taking thoughtful bites of her own supper. He tries to slow his pace to match hers; tries his best to show a little restraint.

"You seem to know a great deal about the Yaoguai," Belle observes, passing him some of her buttered bread. He does not reply for quite some time, and she is prepared to let the matter drop until morning, but then he squares his shoulders and meets her curious gaze. "That is because it was I who created the curse," he tells her in a deliberate, distant voice. "The man who is cursed to wear the form of the Yaoguai is a prince named Phillip. He is-was-an honorable, courageous man. He did nothing to merit his misfortune. But I needed him out of the way for ten years so that he would not wake a cursed princess with True Love's kiss. He has lost ten years of his life so that he would not..._inconvenience_ me."

"You think you know my heart, Belle. You think you can pet me and kiss me and...tame me. You think I am not a beast, not really. But you know _nothing_ of what I am capable of. You know _nothing_ of what I have done. _Do you know that I have killed?_ I haven't even kept a tally of the bodies. Do you know what I did when I discovered my wife had abandoned me and my boy for a filthy pirate? Left us believing she was dead and that it was my fault? _I ripped out her heart and showed it to her lover before I crushed it in my hand."_

"Do you know why the Evil Queen must cast the curse? Because I need her to rip out the heart of the thing she loves most. And that would be her _father's_ heart. I need to convince her _to rip out her own father's heart._ If I could ask her to do it this moment, and I knew she would agree, I wouldn't hesitate. I would do anything, _anything_ to see my boy again. Monstrous things. You say I'm not a beast; you say you love me. You cannot _love_ me _because you do not know me."_

His shoulders heave with the effort of this speech, and his human lips curl into a familiar, cursed snarl, daring her to contradict him. His voice, normally airy and light, has dropped in timber. He holds out his hands, beseeching her to see them as they are: blood-stained and wicked, even though his talons are no longer visible.

Belle exhales slowly, then sets aside her meal and moves from the bench to kneel at his feet, taking his upturned hands in her own. She matches his furious intensity with her own passionate conviction.

"You think I don't know evil? My kingdom was at war for the past _ten years of my life._ I have worked in the hospital tents and heard the soldiers crying for their mothers. _I know what evil looks like._ It is brutal. It is banal. It is dispassionate. It is the glassy eyes of the ogre before it bites into flesh. It is a young man holding his bowels so that they won't spill out onto the operating table and apologizing, _apologizing_ to you for the mess he is making and asking, _please miss, please, will you please get my mother?" _

"You think because I am young and my face in unlined that I don't understand what is monstrous? _I have stood beside my father and read the death rites for entire villages._ The mothers and fathers fed their children hemlock so the little ones would not know the pain of being devoured. Out of mercy, the strong smothered the elderly and infirm while they slept, then fought and died, but first they suffered horribly. _I know evil._"

"You think I don't know your shame? _I read,_ Rumple. Your story is a famous one. I know you were meant to have deserted during the first Great Ogre War by injuring yourself." She gestures to his leg. "What I didn't know was _why._ It was for your son, wasn't it? I also know the fate of those who deserted the King's Army. First there would have been caning, correct? Then branding. And I doubt anyone offered you use of the medical tent. If the ogres advanced, your comrades would have left you to them. If the front moved, then you would have been left behind. It's a miracle you ever made it back to your family."

"I know your _heart_, Rumple. It is battered, and it has suffered, but it is _true_. You are a man who makes wrong choices, but _you are not an evil man_. An evil man does not spend centuries trying to find his way back to his son. An evil man cannot know True Love, and I know that you love me just as I love you. I know it because your love was strong enough to break the curse."

Belle reaches out to smooth back his long hair, which has fallen forward into his eyes. She caresses his rough cheek and jaw. Rumplestiltskin's eyes flutter shut, and he makes a soft noise deep in his throat. Her hand moves to cradle the back of his neck. Belle pulls his face slowly down to hers. His lips are warm and dry, and at first they do not move beneath hers, so she glides her tongue lightly over his lower lip, causing him to catch his breath and open his mouth to her gentle explorations. His fingers hover in the air near her back as she fits their mouths more tightly together, her other hand joining the first to clasp him around the neck.

There is an unexpected, thrilling jolt of sensation when she brushes her tongue boldly over his, and he makes a strangled, needy sound before crushing her to him, kissing her as though he means to devour her, as though she is the last meal he will ever be offered.

He breaks away for air at last, and Belle is light-headed from tasting him without breathing for so long, but immediately his lips return to hers, and she can think of nothing but the feel of his tongue plunging again and again into the soft crevices of her mouth and the feel of his fingers kneading her waist over the soft fabric of her cloak. "Belle..." he whispers, "Belle..."

There is a low whistle, and their lovely, breathless trance is broken by scattered applause. The guests who have remained near the banquet tables and bonfire have taken notice of their passionate embrace. One man calls out an offer to run and retrieve the priest "for another ceremony...or perhaps just confessions?" There is laughter and more clapping. The flushed and happy bridegroom raises a toast in their direction and his guests follow suit.

Belle, who cannot help but smile, blushes prettily and whispers, "Come with me," leading Rumple by the hand away from the delighted wedding party. The applause swells, and a jokester calls out, "Tell us your secret!" to Rumplestiltskin as he limps after his beauty towards the inn. A woman calls out an answer, "If you have to ask, love, then you don't have it!" The crowd erupts in merriment.

Room 5 is dark and quiet. The fire that warmed it earlier has burned down to embers. Rumplestiltskin's hands shake as he tries again and again to light a candle within a glass lantern on the bedside table. He remembers the previous night, the way her loving, inexperienced hands made him lose his mind in a matter of seconds. He wants her-_oh,_ _Gods, he wants her so much_-but even more he wants to please her. At last, he manages to light the candle.

Belle's arms slip around his waist, and her cheek presses against the center of his back through the cloak. "Belle…sweetheart..." His voice is low and thick with need. He hardly recognizes it as his own.

He turns round and realizes she has removed her cloak and traveling dress. She stands bare before him in only her demure, white pantalets, looking shy and frightened and hopeful. She looks as though she hopes she does not displease him. _Oh Gods._ Her brown curls tumble over her shoulders, not quite long enough to cover the perfect, rose-tipped roundness of her breasts. Her pale skin is flushed, and her blue eyes are wide. "Belle," he chokes out again, and she closes the scant distance between them, hiding her nakedness against his rough tunic.

"Kiss me again, Rumple," she whispers, and her fingers tremble while they unfasten his cloak. It falls to the floor behind him. He supports his weight with one hand on the bedside table, but then her arms slip around his waist, underneath his tunic, and she is holding them both upright while her lips seek his again. He hesitates only a moment before taking her face in his shaking hands and kissing her thoroughly, reverently. He groans when her sweet, eager tongue-which tastes of apples and cinnamon and wedding cake-mimics his earlier, plunging rhythm. She is a quick study, and he can feel how urgently she wishes to please him.

"Rumple," she gasps, as they break away for air, "I haven't done this before. Will you teach me what to do?" He groans. "There is _nothing_ you need to do, Belle. Just...sit back on the bed for me, love. He supports himself against the bed frame, brushing aside the scattered contents of the satchel, while she obediently settles herself upon the edge of the mattress, then looks up at him, simulataneously frightened and exhilerated.

Rumplestiltskin drops to his knees between her thighs, his leg protesting furiously, but-_oh Gods_-he doesn't care. _This_, at least, he can do. _This_ will bring her pleasure. He remembers-oh, lifetimes ago-his first marriage. His wife was disgusted with him and determined not to get with child again. He was desperate to hold fast to his crumbling family. She would permit _this_, on a rare occassion, if she had had a few drinks, and he had learned how to do it passably well, thinking they would one day find their way back to happiness if he could only please her-but enough of these bitter thoughts. His love is _here_, in front of him. He nuzzles the center of her bare chest with his forehead and nose, kisses her there, then leans in to take one perfect, rosebud tip of her breast into his mouth and suckles gently.

The feeling this gives her is so indescribably sweet-an aching, fizzing need that shoots straight down to her belly. Belle clasps her cotton-clad thighs tightly around him, burying her fingers in his hair and holding him close so as not to lose the sweet sensation. He continues to suckle, his warm hands wrapped around the back of her calves, but now his tongue moves over her hardening nipple, causing her to close her eyes and hum with pleasure. He breaks away to nuzzle and suckle her other breast, his fingers sliding up her legs. "Lay back for me, love," he rasps out, and Belle lets herself fall backward upon the bed, her eyes still closed.

Each of them is shaking. _This is where I belong__, _he thinks deliriously,_ at her feet, kneeling...this isn't real...it cannot be real, oh please..._

Belle feels his trembling hands come up to the edge of her pantalets, brushing against her belly, then his fingers tug them lower, off her hips, then off her entirely, discarding them on the floor. Exposed and completely open to him as she is, she cannot help but feel frightened. _Be brave,_ she tells herself, trying to stop her shivering, _be brave._ She hears his sharp intake of breath, then feels his nose and mouth come to rest gently upon the thicket of dark curls between her legs. He brushes a kiss against her, his hands coming up to slide under her thighs, then dips his mouth lower, his wet tongue slipping between her velvety folds and causing her to cry out. Her hands find his forearms and she clutches them, panting his name as his lapping tongue applies more pressure, sometimes darting inside her and sometimes sweeping up to touch the high bundle of nerves that forces her to call out each time he touches it. Belle's hips rock up, and she is lost to a quickening rhythm that she cannot control. Her body knows what it needs, and it seems he does too, his hot tongue flickering against that needy bundle of nerves over and over until she is sobbing his name.

Suddenly, Belle feels him tear one of his hands from under her, watches as it dips below the edge of the bed, watches his eyes close, feels the rhythm of his tongue become more frantic against her. She remembers the frantic movements of his hips the night before, remembers the thick, hot part of him she first caressed and then held in her hand, remembers the way he rocked against her calling out, just as she is rocking up to meet him now, and she realizes she doesn't want to go over this precipice alone. Belle sits up abruptly, her hands on the sides of his head, and he is apologizing, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." his hand coming back to rest beside her on the bed.

"Rumple, come here to me," Belle gasps, tugging at his tunic, pulling it off over his head, then dragging him up onto the bed to lay atop her.

"Belle," his voice is strangled, and his eyes are wild, _"I don't want to hurt you." _

"I want you," she whispers fiercely. "Show me how." Then his lips are on hers again, and the taste of herself on him is intoxicating. She feels him, hard and hot, pressing against her entrance, then slowly, slowly he eases inside her. It is strange and a little painful at first. She doesn't know how her body will accommodate him, but then there is little twinge, and even more wetness between her legs, and he is kissing her, kissing her until she can think of nothing but the feel of him, gliding in and out and of his tongue thrusting into her mouth, matching the rhythm of his hips. When she wraps her arms tightly around him and arches up to meet his thrusts, Rumplestiltskin growls her name and loses all control, frantically thrusting into her, crying out for her. The ferocity of his movements gives her the rough, steady pressure she needs and once again she is nearing the edge of something, sinking her fingers into his shoulder blades, and screaming when the climax takes her, shuddering beneath him while his body jerks and writhes in its own blessed release.

They lay twined together, trying to draw breath, and Belle strokes the back of his hair over and over. Her eyes are wet, but they are happy tears.

"When you sent me away, it broke me heart," she whispers. It's not an accusation, simply the truth. "Promise me you won't try to break our deal again. I want to go with you, forever. You have my heart, Rumple."

"I am yours, always." His voice is thick with emotion. "Do whatever you want with me, Belle. I belong to you, forever."

Later, in the grey hour before dawn, Belle wakes to his whisper. They had drifted off to sleep under the down coverlet, forehead to forehead, his hand on her waist and hers on his cheek. "Belle..." he says in a soft, broken voice, and she knows that he needs her again.

They make love slowly this time, and Rumplestiltskin allows her to explore every part of him: his aching cock and heavy balls, his twisted ankle and mangled foot, the scars along his upper thighs and lower back from the caning, the _coward_ brand upon his chest. Moving together, their hearts pound out what feels like a sacrament: _forever, forever, forever.  
_


End file.
